Chapter 2
Flashback - ' Lessons'
August 1, 1997
Draco spent all morning pacing the perimeter of the drawing room. His restlessness wasn't due to stress or anticipation, it was a result of something he hated far more. Anticipation. Just as he was about to retire to his room last night, Lucius pulled him aside and informed him that he had been called upon.
“You will meet me here promptly at eight am tomorrow,” Lucius had instructed. “We will use the floo to go to the Ministry. The Dark Lord will be waiting for us which means we can not, under any circumstance, be late. He is rather unforgiving when it comes to such a thing.”
Ever since Draco had failed the task of executing his headmaster, Voldemort had been keeping a watchful eye on him. All Draco wanted was another chance to prove himself and his allegiance. He wouldn’t be a very useful spy if the only information he could provide The Order was a count on how often Bippy needed to sweep the manor due to Greyback’s incessant shedding.
“It’s time,” Lucius announced as he descended the staircase and slipped his hands into a pair of dragonhide gloves.
Narcissa followed closely behind, a trouble looked etched onto her face, a harsh contrast to her husband’s. Her eyes had been drowning in fear and her hands hadn’t stopped shaking since the dark mark was cast upon her son’s forearm. She was always on edge. Even the slightest sound would cause her to jump. Though, she somehow managed to maintain her elegance even when startled.
As Draco crossed the room to join his father, Narcissa’s dainty fingers gently wrapped around his bicep. Pulling him close, she whispered, “Remember darling, you are not what they try to turn you into.” Narcissa glanced over at Lucius to make sure he wasn’t listening. “You are a good person, Draco. Whether you choose to believe it or not.”
His mother’s words played over and over, like a broken record repeating the same song on an endless loop, inside Draco’s head as he and his father arrived at the Ministry of Magic and made their way through the first floor to the Minister’s office. Even as he stood along the wall, watching as Dolohov and Yaxley took turns torturing Scrimgeour, Draco continued to mull it over.
“You are not what they try to turn you into.”
It was a nice sentiment, but he couldn’t help but think of it as both foolish and naive, two things he was painfully aware his mother was not. If Draco were ordered to kill someone, he would. He couldn’t afford to let his conscience stop him. Not this time.
The rules were simple: do as you’re told and you might live to see another day.
“Please,” Scrimgeour begged, his hands raised in defeat. “I’ll do whatever you ask of me. Just please, don’t kill me.”
Dolohov and Yaxley drew back and returned to their spots against the wall as Voldemort moved forward. His movements were slow and fluid, much like the snake that rarely left his side. His presence alone was enough to make even the toughest of men cower.
“I am to believe that you, a decorated auror, could be trusted in my regime?” Voldemort questioned as he circled the man. Draco couldn’t help but compare the scene to a lion stalking its prey–waiting for the perfect moment to strike. “The man who, just a few weeks ago, publicly spoke out against me?”
“I was just… doing… my… job,” Scrimgeour panted.
“Tell me, Minister, why would I put my faith in a man whose allegiance is so easily swayed?”
It was evident that the question itself wasn’t actually a question at all. There would be no negotiating for one’s life today. Voldemort was merely doing what he does best–getting people to throw away their dignity and beg for mercy, only for them to then die at his hands moments later. The only person in the room who was unaware of this was the Minister himself, who went on to explain the vital role he could play and the assistance he could lend.
“Lucius,” Voldemort called out, cutting Scrimgeour off mid-sentence. “Read off today’s entry regarding the Minister’s travels.”
Lucius flipped open the file in his hands and took a single step forward. “At nine-thirty am, Minister Scrimgeour travelled to an unknown site near the town of Ottery St. Catchpole, where he concluded the readings of late Albus Dumbledore’s will.” Like the proper soldier he was, Lucius snapped the folder shut, retreated into his original spot, and lowered his head.
Ottery St. Catchpole. The name sounded familiar to Draco, but the reason as to why was unbeknownst to him which only irritated him. He knew it held some kind of significance or else his brow wouldn’t have quirked when he heard his father say it but why? Draco’s brows scrunched together as he sifted through every memory, attempting to unscramble the puzzle that was his mind. And then, he heard it.
“Harry Potter.” Instantly, Draco’s head shot up. “That is who you met with,” Voldemort continued. “He is one of the three names that you had redacted from the document.” Scrimgeour’s lips parted, ready to defend himself or make up some lie, but before he could, Voldemort said, “You met with Harry Potter no more than a few hours ago and now here you are, trying to convince me that you would be a trusted ally.”
The air in the room grew thick and it felt like the temperature had dropped twenty degrees as Voldemort’s lips curved up into a spine-chilling grin and a mocking chuckle escaped the back of his throat.
“It is always a shame to see magical blood be split.” Voldemort’s hand raised, his wand casually balanced between his pointer and middle finger. “But I’m afraid you serve no purpose other than being an untrustworthy nuisance. Say hello to the former Minister for me.”
Everything moved in slow motion as the green beam of light soared through the air and slammed into the centre of Scrimgeour’s chest. The second his body collapsed onto the ground, everyone promptly filed out of the office–except for Draco, who found his feet cemented to the ground.
The murder he just witnessed wasn’t what paralysed him in place. It was the mention of Otter St. Catchpole. It had finally clicked for him. That was the area where The Order’s safehouse was located. Draco couldn’t believe that it had taken him this long to realise that. Actually, that was a lie, he could.
Truth be told, the well-being of The Order ranked extremely low on his list of priorities. Which meant anything involving the group, including the location of their hideout, was simply filed and stowed away in a junk drawer in his mind. Draco had also zoned out the entire time Remus discussed what he was and wasn’t meant to do as a spy. It seemed rather self-explanatory.
Do: Provide as much information as possible.
Don’t: Die.
However, Draco was now slightly kicking himself for not paying attention because he hadn’t a clue what he was supposed to do in this situation. The Death Eaters didn’t have a precise location yet but Draco knew it would only be a matter of time before Voldemort sent someone to investigate. And based on what he had witnessed so far, a ward will always fail to keep Death Eaters out, no matter how strong they might be.
So now what? Was he meant to send word to the idiots? And if so, how the fuck was he meant to do that without someone noticing? Or was Draco meant to physically go there to warn them? And if that’s the case, he would love for someone to tell him how he was supposed to manage sneaking away because it wasn’t like he could disappear without his father-
“Draco,” Lucius hissed from the doorway. “Get,” his eyes pierced at Draco. “Over,” his vein popped in his neck. “Here,” he narrowed his eyes in assertion.
Spy duties will have to wait I guess.
Joining his father, he stepped out onto the main floor and took note of the hundreds of individuals that occupied the area. The entire Ministry was gathered in the atrium, each petrified by fear as they stared at Voldemort.
“It saddens me to announce that Rufus Scrimgeour is no longer with us,” he began, his words full of mock sympathy. “But fear not, you will not be without a leader.”
Greyback moved into everyone’s line of sight, dragging a dishevelled man behind him. Gasps filled the air as he pushed the thin man to the front. His left eye was swollen shut, and blood and bruises painted his face.
“I am certain you are all familiar with Pius Thicknesse,” Voldemort stated. “For three decades, he has served as head of the DMLE, until today. From this day forth, he will be your new Minister. If there are any objections, I urge you to voice them now.”
A deadly quiet fell upon the room. Not a single person was daft enough to speak out, regardless of their opinion on the matter.
“Excellent.” A smirk danced at the corner of his lips. “You may all return to your work now. Minister Thicknesse will be in his office acquainting himself with his new role.”
Draco had been desensitised to death for most of his life. When he was ten, he saw an injured bird in the garden. When he rushed inside, his hands carefully caressing the animal, he approached his father and begged him to help.
“Sometimes it is best to put the weak out of their misery,” his father had told him, his tone just as emotionless as his expression. Lucius’s eerily calm demeanour never once faltered as his hand wrapped around the bird’s neck, and with a casual jerk of his wrist, snapped it.
That was the first time Draco had witnessed a killing.
That’s not to say murders were prevalent in Draco’s life, they were more like a distant aunt or cousin who appeared a handful of times throughout the year. Few and far between, but not unfamiliar or disconcerting. A singular thread also wove through each occurrence; they were a lesson.
So as Draco followed the other Death Eaters back into the office, the newly appointed Minister on his knees in the middle of the room, he knew what to expect–a lesson.
Voldemort’s red eyes locked upon Draco’s silver ones with an intensity that would cause any weak man to look away. For once, Draco found himself thankful for his father. From a young age, Lucius made it known that weakness was a trait that a Malfoy man was never allowed to possess. The word itself was forbidden unless usd to insult another.
“Draco,” Voldemort hummed. “Step forward.”
This is it, Draco thought as he placed one foot in front of the other and gripped the base of his wand. This is my chance to earn his trust.
“The cruciatus should suffice,” he said casually.
Deep breath.
Draco raised his wand.
Clear your mind and focus.
His eyes glossed over as his occlumency cemented.
You have to mean it because if you don’t, it won’t work. And if it doesn’t work, he will kill you.
“Crucio.” The second the word fell from his lips, Thicknesse’s body toppled over and began convulsing. With each whimper and pain-filled goran the new Minister let out, Draco mentally placed brick after brick, until a wall twice his size formed. He could feel the dark magic coursing through his body. It started at his feet, travelled up his legs, through his torso, arms, and down to his fingertips.
It was heavy.
Consuming.
Addicting.
He remembered the discussions back at Hogwarts in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Snape would lecture them on the consequences of using dark magic and how many witches and wizards described the untethered irrational panic that accompanied their first dark spell. Draco had prepared himself to feel the same but what he ended up experiencing was the exact opposite. For the first time in his life, he felt at ease. He felt in control.
It wasn’t until Voldemort placed his hand on Draco’s shoulder, his nails piercing through the fabric of his suit jacket and into his skin, that he dropped the hex. He felt the weight of the magic subside when he lowered his wand, like the final note of a haunting melody fading into silence.
“Very good, Draco,” he praised, his lips curled upward, revealing his decaying teeth. “Perhaps you are not as incompetent as your past actions led me to believe.” Draco released a subtle sigh of relief. “One final thing.” Voldemort lowered his mouth to be level with his ear. “Make him obedient,” he said in a low hissed whisper.
“Please.” Thicknesse’s eyes held a desperate plea. “There is no need. I will do whatever you ask of me.”
Shut out the thoughts.
Draco raised his wand once more.
“As honourable as your word may be, I have never been foolish enough to trust on that alone. I am sure you understand, Minister.” With a lazy wave of his hand, Voldemort signalled Draco to proceed.
Lock out the emotions.
“Imperio.”
***
If there was one thing to be said about Voldemort, besides being a psychotic mass murderer, it was that he appreciated efficiency. Which meant, as soon as Draco had the newly appointed Minister under their command, everything else began to rapidly fall into line.
Voldemort had Thicknesse send out different fleets to carry out various orders, one of which included sending Bellatrix and Greyback to scope out Ottery St Catchpole. When they returned with a location of the safe house, Draco, Yaxley and the Carrow siblings were ordered to infiltrate.
Draco still hadn’t remembered what Lupin and Snape had told him to do in such a circumstance, but he felt delaying his fellow Death Wagers was an excellent first step. He did his best to stall without growing suspicion but asking moronic questions only hindered them for five minutes. Before he knew it, Draco once again found himself in ankle-high water as he stood in the middle of a field of tall grass.
Yaxley and the Carrows wasted no time before heading straight towards the seemingly empty area ahead, throwing curses and hexes to shatter the ward. Screams echoed throughout the night sky as Draco sauntered his way over, a headache already pounding in his temples. When he finally entered the burning tent, he was met by a wand to the neck.
“That’s no way to greet a guest,” Draco scoffed, completely unphased.
“Draco,” Remus let out a sigh of relief as he lowered his arm. “What are you doing here?”
“My job.”
“Your job includes crashing a peaceful wedding?”
“When my orders are to do so, yes,” Draco simply replied as he scanned the surrounding area. “Where are the Three Musketeers?”
“They’re gone,” Remus replied as he casually blocked a hex from behind.
“Shame,” Draco frowned before muttering an enchantment that made Amycus’ shoelaces knot together, causing him to trip over. “I never got the chance to insult Potter properly. I have a long list that I’ve been saving for a rainy day.”
Remus shook his head. “They’re not dead.”
“An even bigger shame.”
“I need you to go find them, Draco. To make sure that they’re safe.”
“What am I, a Crup? I don’t remember protecting the three dimwits as part of our deal, Remus.”
“Our deal was that you would help the Order. Finding Harry, Hermione, and Ron fall under that category.”
Draco let out an irritated groan as he dramatically rolled his eyes. “How am I even supposed to locate the lot? You wouldn’t happen to have some fancy map that tells me their whereabouts, would you?”
“No, but a simple tracking spell should do the trick. Perhaps try A-”
“Avenseguim, I know.”
“I was going to suggest Appare Vestigium,” Remus casted a hex at the individual rushing towards them before continuing. “But yes, Avenseguim works too.”
“Do you have something that belonged to any of them? Piece of hair, clothing item, a brain cell? Oh-wait-apologies, none of them are in possession of the latter,” Draco smirked.
Ignoring the snide remark, Remus yanked at the tie wrapped around his neck and handed it to him. “That’s Ron’s,” he explained. “He loaned it to me for tonight’s event.”
“There was no need for the backstory,” Draco replied, his nose scrunched in disgust as he held the fabric between his fingers. “Only a Weasley would own such a hideous piece.”
Remus turned and continued to block any curses that flew in their direction while Draco began mumbling the enchantment. It took only a moment for the spell to activate and for the tie to glow a soft shade of orange.
“Good, it worked,” Remus said as he faced Draco again. “Now go and stay out of sight.”
“Woof,” Draco deadpanned as he mimicked the movements of a dog.
***
Draco pushed through the sea of people as he followed the tracking device that was previously nothing more than a dreadful tie. His body shivered each time he rubbed shoulders with one of the hundreds of Muggles that flooded the area.
“Loathsome creatures,” he muttered.
Of course they’d be in London, Draco mentally scrutinised as he dramatically rolled his eyes. Brilliant idea Gryffin-dumb fucks, go to one of the most populated areas where it’s nearly impossible to spot if someone’s trailing you.
His internal litany of insults regarding the trio abruptly stopped when he spotted a familiar face just ahead.
Antonin Dolohov.
He was dressed in a blue workman's jumpsuit and by his side was another man in an identical outfit. Draco watched as the pair stowed their wands in their sleeves and entered the café.
Two Death Eaters dressed as Muggles walk into a café, it sounded like the opening to a rather shit joke, but in this particular case – it was the beginning of society’s beloved golden trio’s possible demise.
Draco took a moment to ponder his options.
Option one: cross the street and save the morons.
Option two: obliviate himself, turn around, go home and let them fend for themselves. If they make it, they make it, and if they don’t… may they rest in peace.
Both had pros and cons, and as much as he would’ve preferred to go with option two, Draco found himself headed straight for the café. Once he pushed open the red door and stepped inside, a curse flew past, barely missing his face.
“Wanker,” Draco mumbled before he swiftly removed his wand from his coat pocket and cast a stupefy at Dolohov.
“Expelliarmus!” Harry shouted, disarming the other.
“Expelliarmus, really? Is that the only spell you know?” Draco ridiculed.
“Oh, I’m sorry Malfoy, was that not good enough for you?”
“No, it wasn’t. I understand that it’s a difficult concept for you Potter, but use your fucking brain. Disarming spells were a fun trick back at school, but this is life or death. You need to grow up and use something like–”
“Petrificus Totalus,” Hermione interrupted as she shot up from behind the table. A burst of light escaped the tip of her wand, soared across the room and knocked the remaining Death Eater to the ground.
“Something like that,” Draco finished as he pointed at Hermione. “Well done, Granger,” he praised. “Care to finish the job?”
“We aren’t killing anyone,” Ron stated as he stood and brushed the dirt from his jeans.
“Since when did the carrot-head call the shots?” Draco directed at Harry and Hermione. As he awaited a reply, he moved around to the back of the counter. A young woman appeared in the kitchen doorway as Draco kicked the bottom of Dolohov’s boot. Her eyes grew wide as they shifted to the two bodies lying on the floor to her right.
All of the blood drained from her face when her gaze met Draco’s. She stood frozen and found herself unable to speak as her hand gripped tightly onto the brown handle of the coffee pot.
“You can’t–” she began, but her voice caught in the back of her throat.
“Leave,” Draco instructed. When the waitress remained unmoved, Draco stepped into her and narrowed his eyes. “Leave,” he repeated, the command doubling as a threat.
The waitress nodded her head and hurried into the kitchens. Once the backdoor shut, informing them that the Muggle was gone, Hermione got to work on the blinds while Harry and Ron joined Draco behind the counter.
“That’s Dolohov,” Ron stated as he glared at the man on the ground. “I recognise him from the wanted posters.”
“Who’s the other guy?” Harry questioned.
Draco knelt and used the tip of his wand to turn the man’s head to face him. “Thorfinn Rowle. He fought in the first wizarding war and was in the astronomy tower that night.”
“You mean the night you killed Dumbledore?” Ron glowered.
“I didn’t kill Dumbledore, not that I owe you any sort of explanation.”
Ron let out a scoff of disbelief. “Oh, so you’re trying to tell me that you’re not a killer?”
“I never said that,” Draco casually replied as he stood and walked over to him. “I was merely correcting you on your false accusation. Speaking of killing, would anyone like to do the honours? What about you, Granger? I’d recognise a thirst for blood anywhere, and you’re drowning in it.”
“Hermione isn’t a murderer,” Ron positioned himself between Draco and Hermione as if she were in some sort of danger and his body needed to act as a protective shield.
“Hermione can speak for herself, Ronald,” she stated as she stepped out from behind him. “And while I may not be a murderer, I do think discarding them would be the best course of action.”
“You’re joking, right?” Harry’s brows furrowed as he whipped his head to look at her.
“Do I look like I’m joking Harry?” Hermione snapped. “They’re Death Eaters, and if that’s not enough reason, they tried to kill us. Who’s to say that they won’t try again if we let them go? I’m sorry, Harry, but that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”
“You’ve gone completely mental,” Ron interjected. “I thought we came to an agreement on this Mione?”
“If by an agreement you mean, you scolding me for simply suggesting a war tactic, then sure Ron. But never once did I explicitly state that I would play nice. Nice has never been known to win wars.”
Draco couldn’t help but be baffled, though he tried his best to keep as straight of a face as possible. He knew Hermione tended to be somewhat dictatorial and, at times, curt, but he never in his wildest dreams expected to listen as she justified killing someone. For the first time, Hermione Granger had Draco Malfoy’s full attention.
“I can’t believe you’re still on this dark magic thing!” Ron exclaimed as he threw his arms in the air.
“She never specifically said dark magic,” Harry added in an attempt to diffuse the situation.
“Dark magic is precisely what I meant,” Hermione stated. “What’s a few Unforgivables if it means saving the entirety of Wizarding England?”
“Are you kidding me?” Ron stared at Hermione as if she were a stranger, not the curly-haired girl he had spent the last seven years growing up and falling in love with. “Hermione, please, don’t do this to me,” he pleaded as he grabbed her hand.
“I’m not doing anything to you Ron!” She argued as she yanked her hand away. “I told you I would do whatever it takes to win this war. To make everyone’s sacrifices worth it. To justify what I did to my par–” pain flashed in her eyes as she choked on the last word.
“Mione,” Ron sighed. His shoulders dropped as he took a cautious step toward her. “I didn’t mean to–”
“It doesn’t matter,” Hermione blurted as she shook her head. “Let’s just clean this mess up and get out of here before any more Death Eaters wander in.”
Hermione pushed past everyone and removed her wand from her back pocket. As she lifted her arm, Harry and Ron both shuddered.
“Relax,” she groaned. “I’m not killing either of them, though I still think it’d be wise.” Hermione raised her wand once more and cleared her throat. “Obliviate,” she muttered as she slowly turned her wrist clockwise.
Present Day
“Draco, darling,” the sound of Narcissa’s voice pulled Draco from his thoughts. Shaking his head and blinking a few times, he looked over at his mother and offered her a tight smile.
That night at the café seemed like a lifetime ago, yet he could still recall every emotion he felt that day. The exhaustion from being on such high alert whilst at the Ministry, the intoxicating feeling from using dark magic for the first time, and most of all, the overwhelming urge to get to know Hermione.
He remembered how much he hated that. Hermione bloody Granger? She was what had piqued his interest? Not the fact that he had used his first Unforgivable, or even better yet, that he had enjoyed it? No. Of course not. It just had to be the five-foot-five, bushy-haired witch.
Before then, she held no significance to Draco. The only time he had noticed her at school was when she broke his nose in third year, and after that, it was only when another student would mention her name.
During fourth year, rumours had spread that Hermione trapped Rita Skeeter in a jar. Draco found it ridiculous to believe that the almighty golden girl would be capable of such a devious act, but that night at Lucchino Caffe, he found himself reevaluating his perception of her.
She was still just as stubborn and snippy, but there was a new side he had yet to discover. He had always cast Hermione as the type to follow the rules, to do the honourable thing - murder didn’t fall under that category. While her friends seemed appalled by her suggestion, Draco was fascinated.
The witch from that night was intense, captivating, and even a bit intimidating. That’s not to say that the golden-eyed girl sitting at the table to his right was no longer those things, but she had changed. Draco couldn’t blame her though. He had changed too. Who he was back then felt like a stranger.
Still, it was hard for him to see Hermione like this. The once outspoken girl was now a quiet and often frightened woman. All Draco wanted to do was help her, but he knew no matter what he said or did or how hard he tried, it wouldn’t be enough. Hermione had to want to get better, and it was apparent that she had no interest in doing so.
“I thought we might take a walk around the garden today,” Draco said as he turned to look at Hermione. Her empty gaze remained trained on the plate before her as she picked at the dead skin around her nail.
“Granger?”
“Hmm?” she hummed as her gaze finally met his.
“The garden, thoughts? It’s your birthday, I don’t want to force you to do anything you aren’t interested in.”
“No-I mean-sure. That sounds nice,” she replied quietly with a soft smile.
“You must visit the dahlias,” Narcissa chimed. “They’re absolutely delightful this time of the year. Bippy could put together a basket and the two of you could enjoy a picnic under the family oak tree. The weather is supposed to be perfect today too. Not too sunny with a light breeze. Oh, it’ll be so lovely!” She exclaimed as she clapped her hands together.
Narcissa tended to get overly excited, especially when planning things. Since the war, social gatherings had been at a minimum. With no events, Narcissa focused her energy on rearranging the manor with help from Draco. Each room had been reconstructed more times than Draco could keep count, but he knew that, much like Hermione, his mother was struggling.
The loss of his father impacted Draco and his mother differently. For her, it felt like a dagger to the heart. Lucius was her first and only love, the man she vowed to be with until the end. He was her safe place, regardless of the poor decisions made and the difficult positions he put them in. For Draco, it was a mixture of regret, relief, and anger.
He hated his father for the way he treated his mother. He hated that because of Lucius, he would forever wear the mark of a killer. He was also relieved to be free of his constant scrutiny, but most of all, he regretted never being able to tell his father how he truly felt.
Draco spent his entire life obeying every command given to him. If his father told him to stand taller, he would. If he were instructed to hate a specific group of people, he did. And if he were ordered to become a Death Eater, he would offer his forearm to be branded.
If Draco could go back in time, he would say every thought that ever crossed his mind. He would tell Lucius that he was no father to him at all and that his constant ‘lessons’ did nothing but break him. If he could, Draco would look his father dead in the eyes and tell him that he himself was the only failure in the family.
But he couldn’t. His father was gone. What he could do was notice how his mother’s excitement seemed to drain Hermione. She would always put on a good show for Narcissa. She’d wear her best fake smile and agree to things she clearly had no interest in. Draco loved her for it, but he also loved her enough to save her from it.
“Perhaps we can save the picnic for a later date?” Draco suggested. “I already had something planned for today anyways.”
“Oh,” Narcissa tried to mask the disappointment behind a tight smile. “Of course, another time then.”
No one spoke for the remainder of breakfast, the only sound being the tip of Draco’s fork scraping against the surface of the fine china as he stabbed at his eggs. After Narcissa excused herself and Bippy came around to clear the table, Draco got up from his chair and motioned for Hermione to follow.
As they stepped through the french doors and into the backyard, Draco felt the cool breeze dance across his skin as he closed his eyes and slowly inhaled the fresh scent. He listened as the collection of orange and red leaves crunched beneath his feet as they walked past the fountain and over to the dahlias.
Draco watched as Hermione hesitantly approached the area and took a seat on the marble bench. She began to reach out for one of the flowers but paused just before contact and quickly withdrew her hand.
“Did you know that the dahlia was one of Queen Victoria’s favourites?” Draco questioned.
Hermione shook her head.
“Though it’s also wise to mention that she was also quite the fan of orange blossoms, lilies, and violets,” Draco continued as he fiddled with the black stone on his ring. “But I’m certain that, at one point, dahlias were at the top of her list.”
“I must say, I’m surprised you, of all people, carry so much knowledge on a topic like this,” Hermione replied.
“Oh?” Draco’s brow arched. “And why’s that?”
“It just seems like a rather useless piece of information if I’m being honest.”
“Miss Granger, I can assure you that knowing the late Queen Victoria’s preference in flowers is extremely useful.”
“Is that so?” she teased as the corner of her mouth lifted into a smirk.
Draco nodded.
“Go on then, enlighten me.”
“Gladly. You see, not only did it help me redirect an exasperating conversation about my theoretical future wife with one of my mother’s friends during Sunday tea three years ago,” he explained as he slowly stepped toward her. “But it also managed to provide me with my favourite view.”
“Which is?” she questioned.
He raised his hand and pointed his finger at her.
“Me?”
“Yes, you,” he replied. “More specifically, that smile of yours. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen it. But on the rare occasions that I do, it still causes me to go weak in the knees. You make me weak in the knees, Granger.”
Hermione playfully rolled her eyes as her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink, matching the flowers to the left of her.
“You know, it’s almost comical thinking back on my impression of you back at Hogwarts.”
Intrigued, Draco claimed the seat beside her and leaned back onto the tree behind them. “I’m listening,” he smirked as he motioned for her to continue.
“Where to even begin?” Hermione teased as she let out a small giggle. “For starters, you were England’s most pompous child.”
“I prefer the term confident, but please, do continue.”
“There are so many words that come to mind when I think back on the Draco Malfoy everyone knew and loathed so dearly,” she said sarcastically. “A few of my favourites would have to be judgemental, arrogant, selfish, vain, aggravating, dramatic….”
“Dramatic? I am not dramatic!” he argued as he shot up to his feet and threw his hands into the air.
“Right,” Hermione chuckled. “Not dramatic at all, my apologies.”
“Apology accepted.” Draco readjusted his shirt before returning to his seat on the bench.
“Now that that’s settled,” she began. “The point I was trying to make was that if someone told me back then that Draco Malfoy knew random facts about flowers and enjoyed filling his free time whispering sweet nothings, I would’ve laughed in their face. You’re a far more complex person than I gave you credit for.”
“You forgot to mention how devilishly handsome I am,” he grinned as he flashed her a wink.
“I seem to have forgotten humble as well.”
“That you did. But no worries love, I forgive you,” he assured her through a cheeky smile.
This is us, he thought. This is how we used to be.
A piece of Draco felt ashamed for wanting to freeze time and stay in this moment forever. He knew that Hermione was hurting and it would take her time to adjust, but he missed the days when they’d be this way. When they’d tease one another, laugh and just simply exist. He even missed the times when they’d fight because, at least then, he had some idea of how to fix it.
Sometimes Draco found himself reminiscing on the days when he was nothing more to Hermione than a thorn in her side. It was easier then; there were no expectations for him apart from being a prat. He remembered how a sneer would always find its way onto Hermione’s face whenever he’d show up during the Horcrux hunt.
Flashback - 'Reunions'
August 4, 1997
“Did someone order a small man whose head resembles a crystal ball?” Draco questioned.
“Malfoy?” Harry’s brow raised as he watched Draco drag Mundungus through the kitchen.
“Get your elitist Death Eater hands off of me!” Mundungus shouted as he kicked his feet and flailed his arms in an attempt to free himself.
“What the bloody hell are you doing here Malfoy?” Ron glowered.
“What you failed to do on your own,” Draco replied before throwing Mundungus down onto the wooden chair. “I must say, I always thought sending a house elf to do your fetching was above you bleeding-heart Gryffindors. Especially you,” Draco’s eyes shifted over to Hermione’s.
“And where is Kreacher, might I ask?” Hermione sneered as she crossed her arms.
“Harry Potter,” A small voice exclaimed. “How long it's been!”
“Dobby, what are you–” Harry began, but he was cut off.
“Dobby was in Diagon Alley and saw Kreacher, which Dobby thought was curious.”
“And–” Kreacher attempted to speak but was pushed back by Dobby, who continued to talk over him.
“And then, Dobby heard Kreacher say Harry Potter’s name.”
“I had to-” Kreacher began, only to be once again pushed aside.
“And then, Dobby ran into master Draco which confused Dobby even more.”
“When he says ran into, he quite literally means ran into,” Draco added.
“Yes, Dobby’s head still hurts from crashing into Master Draco’s leg,” Dobby stated as he rubbed his forehead.
“As lovely as it is to see you Dobby, and as nauseating as your presence is, Malfoy, might we focus on the task at hand?” Hermione suggested.
“Right, the task,” Harry agreed as he turned his attention to the back corner of the kitchen. Everyone followed closely behind as he made his way over to Mundungus, who was busy sifting through the cabinet.
“Hand it over,” Harry commanded.
Startled by the voice, Mundungus spun around and clutched at his chest as if he were having a heart attack. “Hasn’t anyone told you that it’s improper to sneak up on someone like that?” He ridiculed.
“Just hand it over Mundungus,” Ron demanded. “We know you have it.”
“Even if I knew what you were referring to, why would I listen to you? You’re just a couple of children with two house elves as sidekicks.”
“Dobby is a free elf!” Dobby shouted from behind. “Dobby even has his own trainers!” the elf proudly extended his leg, displaying his shiny new red converse.
“Yeah, yeah,” Mundungus groaned as he waved his hand and rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t change the fact that none of you scare me. Not even you, blondie.”
“That’s fine,” Draco shrugged nonchalantly. “Everyone acts brave until they find themselves with a wand pointed at their head or a hand wrapped around their neck. I’d be delighted to assist you in discovering just how cowardly you truly are, but only if you ask nicely.”
Mundungus’ previously smug look quickly dissipated as he swallowed back any remaining remarks. His face turned a ghostly shade of white and fear consumed his eyes as he met Draco’s cold and uninviting glare.
Harry and Ron moved aside as Draco stalked over to where he stood. With each step Draco advanced, Mundungus retreated. He matched stride for stride until there was no room left and he found himself pinched between the cold brick wall and Draco’s tall and domineering stature.
“I’ll take your silence as a no,” Draco stated. “Pity, I was in a good mood too. Perhaps another time.” In one swift motion, Draco swung his arm around, gripped firmly onto the back of Mundungus’ neck and dragged him over to the fireplace.
“Now, we can do this one of two ways. Either you hand over whatever the fuck it is the three idiots are asking for, or I’ll spend my evening watching as the skin melts from your face.”
“Have you gone mad!?” Mundungus screamed.
“Possibly. You have ten seconds to decide. Ten… nine…”
“You’re even crazier than your father, you know that?”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Draco replied before he resumed counting. “Six… five…” Retrieving his wand, he aimed at the fireplace and flicked his wrist, causing flames to erupt within.
“You’re bluffing!”
“Three…” he continued as he pushed Mundungus toward the fire.
“Alright, alright! I’ll give you what you want, just let me go you bloody sociopath!”
“As you wish.”
Releasing his hold, Draco stepped back and watched as the short man fell forward. Wails escaped the back of Mundungus’ throat as his hands pressed down onto the burning wood to catch himself.
“You’re going to be sorry you did that!” He shot over at Draco.
“Sorry isn’t in my vocabulary.”
“The locket Mundungus,” Harry interjected as he stepped forward and held out his hand.
“What? Locket? I don’t have a locket.”
“Yes, you do, or else Kreacher wouldn’t have tracked you down,” Harry replied. “When you turned this place over, don’t deny it, you found a locket, am I right? So hand it over or we’ll leave you with Malfoy for the rest of the night.”
“Fair warning, I get pretty handsy at night,” Draco smirked.
“I’m telling you, I don’t have a locket,” Mundungus reiterated. “I mean–I used to have one but I don’t anymore.”
“What do you mean by used to?” Hermione queried.
“Exactly what it means darling,” he replied with a crooked smile. “I had it and now I don’t.”
Suddenly, Harry lunged forward and pressed the tip of his wand into his neck. “Quit being smart and tell us where it is.”
“Fucks sake, what is it with you kids and your tempers?” He scoffed. “I don’t know where it is. One moment I’m making my way through Diagon Alley, and the next, I have some Ministry egg coming up and demanding to see my license. She threatened to lock me up, and she would’ve done it too if she hadn’t taken a fancy to that locket.”
“Who was she?” Harry asked. “The witch, do you know her?”
“No I–” Mundungus’ brows knitted together as he stared down at the stack of newspapers. Following his line of sight, Hermione rushed over, grabbed a copy of The Daily Prophet and held it up for him.
“Is this her?” she asked him.
“Yeah, would you look at that,” he replied. “There she is, pink costume and everything.”
“Harry,” Hermione said quietly. Noting her worried expression, Harry removed his wand from Mundungus’ neck and grabbed the paper.
“You have to be kidding me,” he groaned as he handed it back to her and removed his glasses. As he slumped down into one of the chairs at the table, he dropped his face into his hands and let out an irritated sigh.
“What is it?” Ron asked.
“More like who,” she corrected. “It’s Umbridge.”
***
It had been three hours since Mundungus was kicked out. During that time, Draco was debriefed on not only the locket but also the other remaining Horcruxes.
“Where are they?”
“Besides the locket, we don’t know,” Harry replied.
“What are they?”
“We don’t know.”
“How many are there?”
“We–”
Draco raised his hand to stop him. “Let me guess, you don’t know.” Harry shook his head. “Is there anything that you do know, Potter?”
“Well I–” Harry began, but he was once again cut off.
“What we know is that if we don’t destroy every last Horcrux, killing Voldemort will be an unachievable task,” Remus said as he stepped into the room.
“Lupin,” Harry smiled before walking over and hugging him. “What’re you doing here? We thought everyone had gone underground.”
“You would be right about that, but we thought you could use all the help you could get.”
Harry’s eyebrows pulled together as his head cocked slightly, but before he could ask any questions, a purple-haired woman appeared at Remus’ side.
“Tonks!” Hermione exclaimed as she cleared the distance between them and flung her arms around her.
“Hey there sweet girl,” Tonks smiled as she welcomed her embrace. “How have you been holding up? The boys haven’t been giving you too much trouble, have they?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“That’s my girl. And you,” Tonks directed at Draco. “You haven’t been giving her a hard time, right?”
“No more than I give everyone else,” he replied.
“Good,” she nodded as she walked over to him. “Because if you do, I’ll kill you.”
“Please cousin,” he scoffed. “We both know your threats are nothing more than empty promises used to tease me. You would never grant me such a wonderful thing as death.”
“Damn right I wouldn’t,” she said before throwing her arms around Draco and pulling him into her. “This would be far less awkward if you hugged me back.”
As much as he would’ve preferred not to, Draco gave in and wrapped his arms around her small frame. It had been over five years since he’d last seen her.
Growing up, Draco and Narcissa would visit his aunt, uncle and cousin for a day during the Christmas holiday. His father would never be in attendance and was kept in the dark about the gatherings altogether. One year, just as they were about to leave, Lucius appeared in the doorway. Draco didn’t know what had happened afterwards, seeing as he was sent to his room, but what he did know was that he hadn’t seen his extended family since.
That was until today.
It was a strange feeling, being with her again. It felt like centuries had passed but at the same time, like none had gone by at all. Despite the seven-year age gap, the pair had always been close. There was something about Tonks that seemed to put Draco at ease.
“It’s good to see you Draco,” Tonks whispered.
“You too, Dora.”
“And what about me?” another voice chimed.
“Aunt Dromeda?”
“Merlin, you’ve certainly grown. The last time I saw you, you stood no taller than, well, right about here,” she said as she held her hand level with her hip.
As the sound of her heels clicking against the wood floor echoed in Draco’s ears, he couldn’t help but be at a loss for words. She looked like she hadn’t aged a single day.
Her light brown hair remained at its usual length, just exceeding past her shoulders, and her posture was still just as poised. When Draco was younger, he would always take note of the similarities between his aunt and mother. They both carried themselves with such grace and elegance, and they both emanated a warm light – unlike their eldest sister, Bellatrix.
Between the two, Andromeda resembled her the most, uncanny, some would even say. Though, Draco never understood how people would mistake one for the other. Not only did Bella have jet-black hair, but her eyes were heavily lidded and malicious-looking, while Andromeda’s were wide and kind. Where Bella’s features were sharp and cutting, hers were soft and delicate. And while Bellatrix’s presence set Draco on edge, Andromeda’s, much like her daughter, helped him relax.
As she raised her hand and gently pressed her palm to his cheek, Draco felt a crack in his occlumency.
“Hello Draco,” Andromeda’s voice was soft and laced with both love and hurt.
“Hi,” he managed to choke out.
“Let’s give them some privacy,” Remus directed at Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
Even after everyone exited the room and the door closed shut, the three of them remained in the same position. Andromeda and Draco facing one another with a foot of space between them, her hand still resting on his cheek, and Tonks to the right.
Andromeda’s tear-filled eyes flitted down to his left forearm, the end of the dark mark just barely peeking out from underneath his sleeve.
“I should have been there for you,” she said quietly, her voice breaking.
“There’s nothing that you could have done.”
“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have at least tried,” she countered. “Maybe I could have talked some sense into your father. Perhaps your mother and I together would have been able to help you. To save you from this.”
“Aunt Dromeda–”
“You shouldn’t have to be going through this! You’re only seventeen. You’re just a boy!” she cried out. “You don’t deserve this Draco. You deserve better. If something happens to you–you’re more of a son than a nephew to me and I–”
“Aunt Dromeda,” Draco repeated as he took her hand and placed it back on his cheek. “I’m okay, see? Nothing will happen to me, I’m going to be fine.”
The panic in her expression faded, and her eyes softened as she drew in a slow and deep breath.
“You’re okay?” she questioned.
Draco nodded.
“I want you to be more than just okay,” she sighed. “But for now, I’ll accept it.”